You make yourself fat.

After eating like a fatso all day, I do not look so fat right now and that's good. I guess that whole working out thing does some good. Also, the more I'm toning up, the more my body is starting to resemble that of J.Lo or Shakira and I figure I should just speak in Spanish all the time. It might make my life easier.

On another note, I'm going to DC next week and I'm stoked.

Steaked-out.

I never thought the day would come where I've finally said to myself that I've had enough steak for a while. I've somehow managed to grab a hold of several fantastically well marbled ribeye steaks over the past couple of weeks at ridiculously low prices. Admittedly, I'm spoiled, so therefore my idea of low price is probably still really high for most people and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Either way, I've been wondering if I've been ingesting fat humans instead of steak as there are probably more well marbled humans on this planet than there are cows. Regardless, whatever I've been eating, has been fucking fantastic and delicious but I'm so done. Completely done. I thought I needed variety, and that's not true. I just need raw foods for my colon's sanity. I'm looking forward to eaten raw-vegan for the week, as the carne-ODing I've been doing has been making me forget about eating for 20 hours at a time until suddenly I realize I haven't eaten anything. Then of course comes the vicious cycle of "well I have some more meat in the fridge..." Creo que me voy a vomitar ahora...

However, my boyfriend couldn't be anymore spoiled rotten with his workin' man meals as I like to call them. Everything from steak with mushrooms and sauteed arugula, to Spanish-style steak with loaded potatoes, to Cuban-style steak over rice and a fajita style sofrito and plantains. The man can chow-the fuck-down. What I find the sexiest about my boyfriend is the fact that he's that stereotypical construction worker with his dirty jeans, heavy boots and baggy stained shirts and underneath his ridiculously filthy work ensemble is this gorgeous piece of man that can just chow down on 3-4 pounds of food and wake up the next morning like it never happened. I envy him in so many ways. While I skip the good stuff (the carbs) and eat a fraction of what he does, he just mauls away on bistec like it's the last he'll ever have. To top it all off, he'll finish with a fucking bowl of ice cream or something. That is just insane to me. Hot and disturbing, just the way I like 'em.


^^^ Boyfriend and pitbull between my legs. Cute, yet annoying.

On another note, I'm counting down the days until we're in our own place... October cannot come any sooner. Just the two of us and my dog until we get a Beauceron puppy. We went shopping today for our house and we ended up getting more kitchen stuff. He bought me new pieces to add to my ever growing Le Creuset collection.

I'm happy. What a strange concept.

Haircuts.

I am resorting to posting a Utah picture because the picture I want to post I can't. I promised I wouldn't. So, fine, have a picture from my trip last month.

This afternoon was a complete shit show at my parent's house. Should I even refer it to my parent's house even though TECHNICALLY I still live there? What do I call it? My home life is in limbo. I'm neither here... nor there. I'm not "officially" moved in with my boyfriend but I sleep in his room every night for the past who knows how long? I think the last time I slept at home was when I had pneumonia and I wanted to suffer in my own personal tropical jungle. Either way, I guess I can call it my parent's place since right now I'm not there, my dog is with me and we're FINALLY getting our own house in October.

Uh, that ramble was completely irrelevant but I felt like I needed a background story. Point is, I was home with my parents this afternoon while my boyfriend was working on his project car and I didn't feel like laying around in bed all day while he played with grease and tools. So at one point in the afternoon my dad asked my mom for a haircut. You see, my dad is very bright man when it comes to academics but the poor man has ZERO common sense. He sees A. He sees Z. He does not see B-Y and that has routinely been a problem. He has ended up in the hospital this way many times... And he's also ended up with terrible haircuts.

Today is not the first time my dad received a hair cut from my shear-impaired mother. I don't know why after he's seen her attempt to shave her old dog, and knowing that she left him looking like road kill, why he'd ever ask once. The first time was a disaster. Today was round two of a bad hair cut. I may or may not have been home or paying attention as this haircut transpired. I honestly don't remember the cause of the shit show actually happening. I just know it did. I think it's even possible that my mom let my dad leave the house with the aftermath of the tornado of shears hit his head. Worse, I think he even trusted her enough that she did a good job that he didn't bother to look in the mirror to see how the back of his head looked. Either way, a number of hours had passed by the time I lifted my head from a bag of seaweed snacks to see my dad walking past me. When I told him to go look in the mirror over his head he immediately remembered why he does not let my mom cut his hair. Needless to say she took out ENTIRE CHUNKS OF HAIR and then left everything around it long. Ive only seen this type of bad haircut on homeless people, punks and fraternity boys during their hazing. It was bad. really, really, really bad. so bad.

Now, while I personally think my dad missing chunks of hair like he got attacked by an angry squirrel is completely HILARIOUS, it's borderline trivial. While I KNOW my dad can sometimes channel his inner village idiot and it's clear he falls into a cycle of stupid mistakes, what I want to know is, WHAT THE HELL is my mom's problem?

I mean. It's a simple pair of shears. How hard is it to shave a head? Why must one act so completely baffled at a pair of shears? It has one button for crying out loud: ON. It's not like she was given some sort of difficult piece of machinery and asked to split atoms. She was asked to give a buzz cut. I'm not entirely sure how it could possibly be such a difficult task for her but apparently it is. Either that, or my mom is a significantly bigger bitch than I thought and she did it purposely. I'd like to think it's the former but my mom is a fairly smart woman. Well, either way, I was forced to fix her fuck ups although I did request a picture of it in exchange. I might post it one of these days when my lurker parents are least expecting it.

Apparently I've never had tolerance for stupidity.

You know, sometimes it feels good to call up my grandma and say to her that I'm coming over to bring her lunch because I love her to pieces. Actually, it was mostly an effort to make my mom look like the biggest bitch daughter ever, but I do love my grandma to pieces. I navigated through that shit hole valley just to bring my grandma a glorified happy meal and hang out with her for a couple of hours without my REAL BITCH of a mother in a hurry to leave so she can ramble about politics on the internet. If that bitch was skinny she could have made a great politician's side piece but sadly she is suffering from a case of the fatsos.

So while hanging out with grandma and giving her plenty of time to get her reminiscing out of her system for at least a month by going through countless photos and other miscellaneous items, I came upon this gem posted above. Apparently grandma is a packrat and has all sorts of useless crap a normal person wouldn't keep. For example, my very first Sanrio/Pickachu/whatever the eff creepy Japanese diary when I was 7 years old. All I know is that when reading my very first diary, I came to realize that I've been a whackadoo since I was a kid. I've always never had an ounce of patience for anyone or anything and I'm not sure it's because I'm an only child, because I'm spoiled or because I'm latina or a really sick combination of the three. Either way, it was evident that every time I wrote in my diary I was irritated. I wish I could apologize to Mrs. Gip[b]son for thinking her class was stupid and not worth going to, but the reality is I've always been a good judge of stupid. She probably was stupid and I'm sure her class was horrible. I wish I remembered who the Hell she was so I had some good stories to tell. My tiny seven year old brain decided she was boring and stupid enough to forget. Maybe she is the one who refused to let me go pee because she was in the middle of teaching spelling lesson or something and sent me to the back of the room. Maybe she is the one that made me pee my pants in the chair in the back of the room because she refused to let me go. I had a sense of shame as a child so I never told anyone. I was also very crafty in my peeing-in-class abilities because I never got caught or questioned for it, either. Maybe that cunt did realize that I pissed in her fucking chair because I REALLY DID NEED TO PEE and she would have been fired had the school found out she refused to let a little kid pee. Pretty sure that's illegal. Either way, fuck that teacher. I hope it was Mrs. Gip[b]son. That would be pretty awesome if I channeled my inner 7 year old rage and HAD to just write down she was stupid.

In my other writings, I wrote about how I had to play the piano in front of 500 people and I was really nervous but it did not suck so bad but I was pissed I had to go. Then another one of my writings was how I was really annoyed my cousin came over to spend the night and all she wanted to do was play Micky Mouse Nintendo. I also called the game stupid. (Note the power of good marketing: As a 7 year old I spelled "cousin" as "cousen" but capitalized the N in Nintendo and spelled it correctly)

All in all, I haven't really changed since I was little. I still have zero patience. I'm probably in negative figures now. I still write in my blog when I'm frustrated. I still think nearly everything is stupid. I guess I am just happy to know that even as a kid, I've always been opinionated and I've always been myself. Looking back, I was a damn cool kid.

About to get real busy-like. Say that with a Southern twang.

Someone Eff me in the A.

August better be an awesome month of relaxing because September is going to be damn busy. One of my best girlfriends that lives in DC (see previous posts of me visiting her in DC) is moving to Kentucky with my brother Sept 1. AS ROOMIES. NOT LOVERS. LET ME CLARIFY THAT. So I'm flying out to DC and we're driving her truck and ponaynay trailer to Lexington, Kentucky. My plan is to have as much fun as possible until I see my brother... Then make his life Hell for the remainder of my visit because I haven't done that in almost a year and a half. The majority of the drive will be through West VA which means I plan on running into Jesco White and the rest of that fucked up redneck-hillbilly-white trash-tweaker shit family or at least their doppelgangers. I have a suspicious feeling that I'll be seeing what Palmdale would look like on tweak filled steroids. I hope Palmdale doesn't get any ideas anytime soon.

So after I run over to the east coast, the following weekend I'll be in San Diego with my boyfriend for my Godfather's wedding. I CANT BELIEVE THE MAN IS FINALLY GETTING MARRIED. So strange that he's settling down and he's not the bachelor party Godfather anymore. Totally insane to me.

After that is my boyfriend's birthday which I haven't even started planning for... Then the weekend after that we're moving into our own place. JUST THE TWO OF US NO WITH NO ROOMIES OTHER THAN MY (OUR) DOG.

Busy times ahead. O_o

Message truncated due to lack of care.

I've been exhausted of everything that is a glimmer of care or apathy for anyone other than myself. That being said, I'm tired of myself. I'm bored, I'm restless and I'm too caught up in my own mind to give a damn about anything. All I want is new adventures and new hobbies. I want something. anything. I miss jiu jitsu but I don't miss the idiot people in that sport. It was a lot of fun, but out of the 129038120398102938120983 people training, only 3 of them were genuinely good people. The rest were a bunch of fucking retarded perverts, or just plain retarded. I also learned that men are far more dramatic than women. THAT surprised me greatly. I'm glad my phone no longer blows up with drama from the gym.

Yesterday I went for a hike by myself with my dog. My fat bitch crapped out before I did, LONG before I did, so I turned around and took her home. I really need a steady hiking partner. I thought I had one, but that turned out to be another cruel joke on me. I somehow repeated what I thought I left. I need to figure out how I keep ending up in this cycle because I'm tired of it.

Adventures.

I have a shit load of pics from Utah. I am entirely too lazy to post all of them on one post so I'll just extend them out per blog entry. That's me in the white shirt with the camelback over my head. That hike was awesome and I ate shit 3 times in the water slipping over rocks with my expensive ass water shoes on. So much for supreme grip. Even better, there were a few parts entirely too deep for my short ass and I had to swim it. Even better than that is the gigantic German who passed me saying I was too short for the hike but in really broken English. Thanks German dude, I'm well aware of my midgetness. Turns out I survived hiking in a river and my lack of altitude didn't effect me too much. I'm Cuban, us Cuban folk have been supreme swimmers since the 60s.

Now I have a bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney. I figure if my fatso Dad did it in the 70s then I can do it today. I'm pretty sure that bastard has never been in shape. Sometimes I ask my mom why she married him because she was pretty good looking before she got fat, too. Then she's like "well he was nice" and I'm like yeah but he's fugs and flabby. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad a lot but we wouldn't call him Danny Darwin if there wasn't a reason for it. Sometimes I look at him and I get pissed at her for procreating with someone that looks like Shrek, knowing full well that I could have come out looking like his mini Shrek-looking mother and that could have meant 100k in plastic surgery on her end to fix me for doing something so dumb. Every morning I look in the mirror and although I will never be satisfied with myself I am just thankful that I did not come out looking like my Hungarian side of the family. What terrible looking people, for real. I'm just glad my dad is also half Cuban whose family is good looking so that put me on the decent scale. It also gave me the fat gene but I've been battling it by living the paleolithic lifestyle. You know, walking up mountains and eating berries, greens and meat. That's the key to NOT being a fatso Cuban: Go for a damn walk up a mountain and put down the mojito, fried plantain and cigar.

I'm not sure how the bug up my ass to climb Mt. Whitney turned into a rant about my fatso family and bad Hungarian genes but it did. Fuck it. My point is that I'm going to climb that mountain. Permits are sold out for the summer so I guess unless I get into a lottery to get a permit I will have to wait until next summer. There's NO FUCKING WAY I plan on climbing that mountain in the winter or early spring months. Fuck no. I have some big balls for a miniature female but not that big. I'd like to minimize the possibility of me dying via avalanche or lose a limb to frostbite. Nope, not happening.

Oh, by the way, I feel seriously sorry for anyone whose life is composed of nothing but shopping malls and clubs. The more I explore the world and see nature's beauty the more I feel sorry for shallow people. Shallow people, go kill yourselves. No one needs you.